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his best to break social barriers so that people from varying<br />
backgrounds could mingle easily. He used to spend hours<br />
with me and would say, “Kalam, I want you to develop so<br />
that you are on par with the highly educated people <strong>of</strong> the<br />
big cities.”<br />
One day, he invited me to his home for a meal. His wife<br />
was horrified at the idea <strong>of</strong> a Muslim boy being invited to<br />
dine in her ritually pure kitchen. She refused to serve me in<br />
her kitchen. Sivasubramania Iyer was not perturbed, nor did<br />
he get angry with his wife, but instead, served me with his<br />
own hands and sat down beside me to eat his meal. His<br />
wife watched us from behind the kitchen door. I wondered<br />
whether she had observed any difference in the way I ate<br />
rice, drank water or cleaned the floor after the meal. When I<br />
was leaving his house, Sivasubramania Iyer invited me to<br />
join him for dinner again the next weekend. Observing my<br />
hesitation, he told me not to get upset, saying, “Once you<br />
decide to change the system, such problems have to be<br />
confronted.” When I visited his house the next week,<br />
Sivasubramania Iyer’s wife took me inside her kitchen and<br />
served me food with her own hands.<br />
Then the Second World War was over and India’s<br />
freedom was imminent. “Indians will build their own India,”<br />
declared Gandhiji. The whole country was filled with an<br />
unprecedented optimism. I asked my father’s permission to<br />
leave Rameswaram and study at the district headquarters<br />
in Ramanathapuram.<br />
He told me as if thinking aloud, “Abul! I know you have<br />
to go away to grow. Does the seagull not fly across the Sun,<br />
alone and without a nest? You must forego your longing for<br />
the land <strong>of</strong> your memories to move into the dwelling place<br />
<strong>of</strong> your greater desires; our love will not bind you nor will our<br />
needs hold you.” He quoted Khalil Gibran to my hesitant<br />
mother, “Your children are not your children. They are the<br />
sons and daughters <strong>of</strong> Life’s longing for itself. They come<br />
through you but not from you. You may give them your love<br />
but not your thoughts. For they have their own thoughts.”<br />
He took me and my three brothers to the mosque and<br />
recited the prayer Al Fatiha from the Holy Qur’an. As he put<br />
me on the train at Rameswaram station he said, “This<br />
island may be housing your body but not your soul. Your<br />
soul dwells in the house <strong>of</strong> tomorrow which none <strong>of</strong> us at<br />
Rameswaram can visit, not even in our dreams. May God<br />
bless you, my child!”<br />
Samsuddin and Ahmed Jallaluddin travelled with me to<br />
Ramanathapuram to enrol me in Schwartz High School,<br />
and to arrange for my boarding there. Somehow, I did not<br />
take to the new setting. The town <strong>of</strong> Ramanathapuram was<br />
a thriving, factious town <strong>of</strong> some fifty thousand people, but<br />
the coherence and harmony <strong>of</strong> Rameswaram was absent. I<br />
missed my home and grabbed every opportunity to visit<br />
Rameswaram. The pull <strong>of</strong> educational opportunities at<br />
Ramanathapuram was not strong enough to nullify the<br />
attraction <strong>of</strong> poli, a South Indian sweet my mother made. In<br />
fact, she used to prepare twelve distinctly different varieties<br />
<strong>of</strong> it, bringing out the flavour <strong>of</strong> every single ingredient used<br />
in the best possible combinations.<br />
Despite my homesickness, I was determined to come<br />
to terms with the new environment because I knew my<br />
father had invested great hopes in my success. My father<br />
visualized me as a Collector in the making and I thought it<br />
my duty to realise my father’s dream, although I desperately<br />
missed the familiarity, security and comforts <strong>of</strong><br />
Rameswaram.<br />
Jallaluddin used to speak to me about the power <strong>of</strong>